


Oh, Glory

by corgasbord



Series: Oumota Week 2018 [3]
Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: Angst, Character Study, Gen, Supernatural Elements, it's easier to read this as platonic so i'm tagging it that way, slight emetophobia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-08
Updated: 2018-07-08
Packaged: 2019-06-05 10:17:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,583
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15168521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/corgasbord/pseuds/corgasbord
Summary: Before the trial, Kaito falls asleep in the Exisal and receives a visit from the boy he killed.(Originally written for Oumota Week Day 5: Ending.)





	Oh, Glory

**Author's Note:**

  * For [grayimperia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/grayimperia/gifts).



> i knew i probably wouldn't be able to finish oumota week, but i didn't expect to disappear for two months... sorry about that, haha. this was an idea that i really liked but wasn't able to execute back then, so i decided to polish and repurpose it as a gift for my wonderful girlfriend! i'd noticed that despite all the works in the tag written about chapter 5, no one's really thought to write about what might have happened to kaito in the interim between ouma's death and the trial, and i thought that would be an interesting dive into his psyche.
> 
> and to you, gray: i can't believe we've known each other for over a year now, and i feel so lucky to have met you. consider this a little expression of my appreciation for you sticking with me for this long - i hope you like it! <3

Kaito’s pretty sure that the only coherent thought he’s had since the night began is _this is bullshit._

Everything leading up to where he is now, cooped up in an Exisal with a thick script spilled across his lap, has been bullshit. The aforementioned script is just the icing on the bullshit cake. Pages and pages of nonsense instructions, penned in surprisingly neat handwriting given who wrote them, but punctuated with childish doodles and crude notes. He’s able to parse it, but only slowly, because nothing is ever that simple where Kokichi Ouma is involved, not if Kokichi himself can help it.

He guesses that it’s only fitting that the boy who had spent his life pulling Kaito’s and everyone else’s minds in circles would continue to do so even in death.

_Death. He’s dead._

He smothers the thought just as he smothers a cough, because now isn’t the time to worry about that. He’s supposed to be familiarizing himself with the intricacies of the plan Kokichi laid out for him, not having second thoughts about an irreversible decision.

His attention returns to the script. Almost begrudgingly, he thinks it’s a wonder that Kokichi didn’t outsmart the mastermind. The bastard always was observant, and it shows in the number of outcomes he’s predicted, the sheer breadth of potential responses Kaito could give in any situation. Yet nowhere in the lines of dialogue or scribbles in the margins did Kokichi offer any indication that he knew exactly whom they’re fighting.

Kaito’s brows knit as he remembers something that Kokichi had said to him. Something about this game being bigger than themselves. He’d mentioned being watched and, confused, Kaito had dismissed it as a result of poison-induced delirium.

Now, squinting in the faint light of the Exisal’s control panel at the only thing the other boy left to remember him by, Kaito doesn’t know what to think besides the same thought that’s been in his head all night. _This is_ such _bullshit_.

The words are beginning to blur together on the page. He’s been trying to focus on them for so long that they’re slipping through his fingers, touching his brain but not sticking. His eyelids droop.

Then he feels a whisper of cold air on the shell of his ear, a low “Boo,” and jumps nearly a foot in his seat.

The metallic _bang_ of his head hitting the roof of the cockpit is accompanied by a sharp, nasally cackle. “Oh, wow! I really wish you could see the look on your face right now, it’s priceless!”

Kaito turns his head towards the source of the hauntingly familiar laughter, and the blood promptly curdles in his veins. Inches away from him, leisurely reclining in midair with his legs crossed and his arms folded over his bare middle, is Kokichi Ouma himself.

Kokichi rights himself a bit when his eyes catch on Kaito’s. “What’s the matter, Momota-chan? You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” he says, then flashes him another cheek-splitting grin. “Oh, wait. I guess you have! Nishishi.”

_A ghost._ Hearing it spoken aloud is like tripping a switch. Kaito lets out an undignified, ear-splitting shriek and jerks away on instinct. The movement causes him to lose his balance, and he slams into the controls, causing the entire Exisal to lurch forward, then downward. Kaito tumbles across his seat, and he remains half slumped over it as the machine finally rattles to a stop, struggling to catch his breath.

To his credit, Kokichi is no longer amused. “You _idiot_ ,” he spits, “get ahold of yourself. Are you gonna freak out this much when you have to sit through a trial in here? One wrong move and you’ll open the cockpit, and then boom- you’ve exposed us!”

Kaito’s insides feel too tight. He tries to lift himself, one shaky elbow planting itself on the seat, and opens his mouth. Blood spills out in lieu of a response, iron splattering upon iron, and it takes everything in him not to succumb to the wave of nausea cresting within him and upchuck the contents of his stomach, too.

For a few long moments, he is still, eyes squeezed shut and breathing reduced to wet, wheezing gulps. He’s losing it, he thinks. The poison must have made his condition worse somehow, even though it had only been in his system for a few minutes, and now he’s fucking hallucinating. Or maybe it worsened on its own. Maybe he’s just that much closer to keeling over and is lucky that he hasn’t done so before he’s completed the tasks he agreed to.

With a firm shake of his head, he dislodges the notion. _I’m not going to die._ He heaves himself up, trembling, and collapses into the seat. _I’m not going to die here. I can’t, not yet._

At last, his eyes pry themselves open and dart to the side again. Kokichi is still there, uncharacteristically silent, observing him with a completely blank look on his translucent features. Kaito fights the urge to shake more and wonders if the apparition will leave if he ignores it.

Unsteadily, he swivels his gaze around the Exisal’s dim interior for the script, which is no longer anywhere to be seen. It had to have dropped somewhere with that graceful display he put on just now. He doesn't have to wonder about it for long; Kokichi speaks again, this time from his opposite shoulder. “It's down here. On your right.”

Kaito glances where Kokichi is directing him with one bony pointer finger. Sure enough, the scrapped-together handbook is wedged in the crevice between his seat and the wall of the cockpit, spine bent back and pages creased unnaturally. He doesn't say anything as he leans over to fish it out, relieved that at the very least it didn't get torn or bloodstained.

“Wow, Momota-chan.” Kokichi leans over him, causing all the little hairs on the back of his neck to stand on end. “Are you really just gonna give me the cold shoulder? After everything we've been through? I'm so hurt!”

“You're not real,” Kaito says, not to Kokichi so much as to himself. “You're- you're a figment of my imagination, or something. Or a dream. Yeah, I'm just dreaming right now.”

Kaito can practically hear Kokichi’s eyes rolling. “If that's what you want to believe, then sure. You always were pretty bad about lying.”

Kaito whips his head around with a suddenly fierce glare. “Don't call me a fucking liar,” he says, venom thick in his vocal chords. “I'm not like you.”

Kokichi hums. “Hey, I thought I'm not real, Momota-chan. Why are you arguing with me?”

“What? I-” Kaito trips over his own tongue. “Sh-Shut up.”

“You know what, though? You're right. I'm smarter and cuter and basically better than you in every conceivable way,” Kokichi decides. “But most importantly, liar though I may be, at least I don't lie to myself.”

Kaito tightens his jaw. “What the hell are you sayin’? I don't lie to myself, either.”

“And I'm sure that if I were as impressionable and starry-eyed as either of your _sidekicks_ I would actually believe that,” Kokichi says. “But I'm not stupid. Liars know liars, and you're one of the worst I've ever met.”

Kaito's fingers curl, fists itching. “Why you…!”

Kokichi ignores him and continues, “I guess it's good that you're used to putting on an act, though. I'm counting on you to make your last performance a convincing one, okay?”

Little tremors bound down Kaito's chest, down his arms and legs, and he isn't sure whether it's from the exertion of breathing or tempering his anger. This isn't real, he tells himself. None of it is real, and so none of it matters.

Kokichi notices. “What're you gonna do, hit me again? Uwaaa, scary! I'm sure that if I could feel pain anymore I'd be quaking in my little bootsies,” he wheedles. His expression then flattens, and he turns to float on his stomach. “Life sure would be easier if you could just punch all of your problems away, wouldn't it? I'm sure a big, strong, manly man like you would have nooo problem just _crushing_ anything that stood in your way then.”

The emphasis on the word “crushing” doesn’t escape Kaito’s notice. It’s a sharp dig at him, lodging like an arrow between his ribs and causing his ire to dissipate in an instant. All he can do is pull a pained wince and murmur, “It's not like I wanted to… to do that, you know.”

“Oh? _Crushing_ me, you mean?” Kokichi’s head cocks to the side. “You seemed pretty on board with it after I gave you all the grisly details.”

“Of the whole plan, yeah,” Kaito says. “Look, it's- it's smart. And you were right that it was probably our only shot at saving everyone and stopping the mastermind. But it wasn't like I wanted to kill you. I didn't _like_ having to do that- if I hadn't had to, then I wouldn't have.”

“Aww, you really do care,” Kokichi croons, mocking.

“Fuck off, it's not like that,” Kaito says gruffly. “How I feel about you’s got nothing to do with it. Killing’s wrong, period. Wouldn't matter if it was you, or me, or even whoever the hell trapped us all here in the first place.”

“Interesting…” Kokichi tucks one elbow into his palm and taps a finger on his chin. “I wonder how you've justified this plan to yourself, then. I guess sacrifices are necessary sometimes, right?”

Kaito scowls. His eyes pointedly glue themselves to the scrawl spread out on his lap. "Like I said. If there was a way I could save everyone without anyone else dying, I'd have done it. But you were already dying, and I was almost out of time, too,” he says quietly. “So it was down to me or Harumaki, and... I didn't want to make a murderer out of Harumaki. Didn't want her to have to be punished when I'll be gone soon anyway, and doing this would result in the least sacrifices. More people would get to live.”

Kokichi barks out another ugly laugh. “Oh, that's rich. You don't want to make a murderer of an assassin? She's been a murderer since before she was even a part of this whole fucked up charade, and you were arrogant to think you could change her in the first place.” 

“She didn't like killing, either- she was made to do it,” Kaito snaps. “She just needed to be shown there were better things out there for her. People can change, Ouma.”

“But not me, right?” Kaito doesn't need to look at Kokichi to know that his face is curled into a sneer.

“No,” Kaito says without hesitation, and he hears a surprised grunt. He explains, “You didn't want to change, not even a little. Shuuichi wanted to. Harumaki never acted like she wanted to because she didn't think she could, but deep down, I could tell she did, too. But you,” he pauses to cast a sidelong glance at Kokichi, “you were too full of yourself to let anyone reach out to you. If I'd tried you would've laughed in my face.”

Kokichi fixes him with that neutral, unblinking stare again, like he’s gone from stunned to bored. “Well, you’re right about one thing. I’m not going to change for anyone. Not you, not Saihara-chan, not the mastermind. No one.” Kaito thinks he hears him waver halfway through his sentence, but figures he must’ve imagined it when Kokichi continues as boisterously as ever. “You don’t have to pretend you wanted to try in the first place, though. You know I hate liars.”

Kaito falters. “It’s not like I never thought about it-”

“But you made a decision, right? A decision to be everyone’s hero, like you think this is some kind of _Weekly Shounen Jump_ manga or something,” Kokichi interrupts. “You read the world like a little kid reads fiction. Everything is simple, black and white. There’s a good guy and a bad guy, and you were sooo excited to get to be the good guy… and to have a bad guy to stand up against.”

Puzzled, Kaito knits his brow. “What the hell are you getting at?”

“I'm saying,” Kokichi says, “that maybe saving everyone isn't as important to you as being their hero.”

Kaito’s jaw slackens, then clenches again. “ _What_?”

“What, are you stupid _and_ deaf? You heard me,” Kokichi says. “You like being right. You don't like challenges. That's why you don't like me. That's why you didn't like it when Saihara-chan knew _I_ was right.” 

“It's not that simple-”

“Isn't it, though? You were so upset with Saihara-chan for proving you wrong that you acted like your friendship meant nothing,” Kokichi says, the sting of his words potent enough to make Kaito flinch, “but you never got mad at Harukawa-chan for getting violent.”

“Ouma,” Kaito starts, a warning in his voice, chest burning with something unnamable.

“Even now, you're trying to defend her. You're doing everything you can to make sure she doesn't have to take responsibility for her actions.”

His breaths come quick through flared nostrils. “Ouma, shut up.”

“And it's for you in the end, isn't it? So you don't have to admit that you were wrong about her or about Gonta.” He's louder now, almost angry. “Isn't it convenient, too, that this plan exists so that you get to say goodbye to everybody, because you're the one they want to hear it from? Even if it fails, it'll be better for you to go out in a blaze of glory than to let your weakness kill you quietly.”

“I said shut _up_!” Kaito roars. The fire in his lungs licks the back of his throat, makes his blood boil, fills his vision with red. It doesn't matter whom he's actually angry with; his fist acts on its own, lashing out at something he can't touch. His knuckles strike the side of the Exisal, hard, but the sound it makes isn't as loud as the silence that follows it, rattling up his wrist and through every bone in his body.

He feels sick. The fire cools, just a bit. The smoke filling his head clears. But the burn doesn't go away. He presses his aching hand to his mouth, closes his eyes, and feels sick sick _sick_.

A tainted, half-stifled cough escapes into his palm. He swallows the rest, the blood and the bile, and shudders.

“It's not,” he rasps finally and to no one in particular, head hung. “I didn't want this.”

“I'm sure I don't know what you mean, Momota-chan,” Kokichi says. He's quiet now, the closest to somber he's ever been. “You didn't get the short end of the stick. However you end up kicking the bucket, you'll be a martyr. You'll lie to them like you've been doing and they'll all cry and forgive you in the end because you’re their beloved hero. That's all you've wanted to be.”

“I didn't want it to happen this way,” Kaito says again. The truth runs out sluggishly, like the blood trailing from one corner of his mouth. “I don't want to die.”

Two, three heartbeats pass through his ears. Kokichi says, “Neither did I.”

Kaito doesn't know what he's expecting. Another laughing fit, perhaps, or a “But that's a lie! Ha, you totally fell for that one, didn't you?”

It never comes. Cautiously, Kaito slants his gaze towards Kokichi again. His vision is still blurrier than he’d like it to be, so he blinks with a barely audible curse and, for the first time, he gets a good look at the boy hovering next to him.

Kokichi had been supernaturally pallid even when alive. Now his skin is sheet-white and almost see-through. His eyes, once a sparkling plum, meet Kaito with a dull, black stare; too opaque and too hollow for their big, round sockets, for his soft, pubescent face. Still cloaked in a faded copy of the night sky that Kaito always carries with him, he appears smaller and frailer than ever.

It feels wrong, seeing him so vulnerable. Indecent in some ways, even. Without letting his line of sight trail too far down Kokichi's almost skeletal figure, Kaito averts his eyes. There's a cold sweat decorating his forehead, his cheeks (yes, that's definitely sweat, he tells himself as he sweeps his knuckles beneath his eyes), his own sickness and fear rolling down his face.

“Did it hurt?” The question leaves him before he even realizes he's thinking it.

Regret immediately sours his expression. Kokichi says, “You're asking me if it hurt when I’d been shot with two poisoned arrows, had to continue hobbling around while that poison started to kill me, and then let myself get crushed under a slow-moving hydraulic press.”

Kaito isn't sure whether what he's feeling is embarrassment or guilt. “Look, I- I meant the last part, specifically. When you… you know.”

“You mean when I went _spluuuurt_ ,” Kokichi brings one palm flat down on the other and makes a wet noise with his cheeks, “like one of those little ketchup packets?”

Kaito tastes blood on the back of his tongue, and he doesn't know whether it's his own or the lingering scent of Kokichi's. He hadn't watched it happen, but he had heard it, had smelled it, and when it was done he’d proceeded to throw up what little Kokichi had fed him earlier. “Can you not,” he grits out laboriously, stomach already turning, “just. Don't say it like that.”

“That's what happened, though.” Kokichi shrugs. “Ask a stupid question, get an awful answer.”

“I don't think that's how it goes,” Kaito says.

“Sure it is!” Kokichi responds nonchalantly, but there's a deathly serious note in his voice when he adds, “Consider it a word to the wise, Momota-chan: don't ask questions you don't want to know the answer to.”

Kaito purses his lips. Only one of two things could have stopped Kokichi's heart: the poison or the press. Either outcome had spelled agony for him. Either way, death would have been more a relief at that point than a torment. In the end, the answer doesn't matter. Kokichi Ouma died, excruciatingly painfully, and that's the only truth that he left Kaito.

“M’sorry,” Kaito says, at a loss.

Kokichi snorts. “Are you seriously apologizing to me for something I asked you to do?” He gives his head a disbelieving shake. “Who are you and what did you do with Kaito ‘a man shouldn't apologize so easily’ Momota?”

“I’ve never said a man shouldn’t know when to apologize,” Kaito huffs. “I know there wasn’t any other way to go about it. Doesn’t change the fact that I feel bad about it, though.”

“I really hope you don’t expect me to ease your conscience or anything,” Kokichi says dryly.

“That's not it,” Kaito grumbles. “I never asked for you to console me. I just hate that it came to this. I hate what I had to do. And I don’t think you’re the only one who needs to hear that, either.” He crosses his arms over his chest and leans back in his seat, head tipped up contemplatively. “I should tell the others I’m sorry, too, if I get the chance. Especially Shuuichi, for lashing out at him the way I did and everything- it wasn’t cool. He didn’t deserve that.”

“I still think I would’ve been a better partner than you. We could’ve been such a great team,” Kokichi sighs, making Kaito bristle. “But, you know, I have to hand it to you. He really grew into himself, so I guess he needed someone there to pat him on the back constantly and tell him he’s good at his job… well, until he got _too_ good at it, that is.”

Kaito grimaces. “I knew he’d be able to stand on his own eventually if someone helped him get there,” he says, gripping his own biceps tighter. “Even if I… sort of lost sight of why I wanted to help him. Didn’t go about it the best way.” He shoots a frown in Kokichi’s direction. “Dunno if you’d have been any better, though.”

“Hey, I’m super good at giving encouragement!” Kokichi insists, index finger stuck up in the air. “I was just now being encouraging. I can do it more, too. Like, I was starting to believe you don’t think you can ever fuck up, but maybe you do have it in you to start admitting to your many, many faults.”

“Shut up,” Kaito replies, but there’s little bite to it. “We’ve all fucked up. You have, I have. And if I could…” he hesitates and sucks the metallic taste from between his teeth. “If I could, like, go back and do things differently, I would.”

Kokichi mimes sitting up, the too-long galactic jacket fluttering in the corner of Kaito’s vision. “So you’re assuming things weren’t set up this way from the beginning,” he says. “Are you still arrogant enough to believe you could change anything?”

“I don’t believe in any fate except the one I make for myself. What kinda shitty world would we be living in if we couldn’t decide our own destinies?” He draws his shoulders back and tries to sound as confident as he always has. “Besides, you’re not any better than me. Isn’t that why we’re doing… all of this,” he spreads his hands in a vague gesture, “so we can break this game ourselves?”

A slow smirk settles into the curves of Kokichi’s cheeks. “Aw, you got me!” he chirps. “Buuut you also basically just admitted to seeing eye-to-eye with me on something, you know.”

Kaito scoffs. “That doesn’t mean anything. No one with any sense would like being stuck in this situation. Of course I’d take the chance to end it- I don’t have to like you or agree with you on anything else to do that.”

“Obstinate as ever, I see,” Kokichi remarks. “Well, that’s fine. You don’t have to like me to do your job. In fact, it’s probably best that you don’t.” 

Kaito rubs the back of his neck and thinks absently that it’ll probably be sore after all the time he’s going to have to spend in this cramped little seat. “I still don’t get you, man,” he sighs. “Dunno what I’m gonna tell the others if Shuuichi figures us out.”

“Does that matter?” Kokichi asks. “You can make up whatever story you want about me. Tell them I was just a poor, scared, misunderstood boy who did everything out of, like, the kindness of my heart, or for charity or whatever. People eat up sob stories like that, right? I’m sure such a tragic tale would win me adoring fans the world over!” He waves his hands in a grandiose manner. “Ooo, or we could stick to our hero and villain roles. You could tell them I forced you into this plan to torment them all further. They all hate my guts right now, so I’m sure they’d believe that one easily.”

Kokichi hems and haws over the possibilities like a writer drafting storybook ideas, and Kaito once again feels his patience waning. Then, Kokichi continues. “Or… you could tell them that I wasn’t about to go along with rules I didn’t set. That I refused to be anyone’s puppet.”

For whatever reason, the word “puppet” strikes a chord in Kaito's brain dissonant from the rest of Kokichi's statement. His forehead creases with his bemusement. “What the hell do you mean by that?”

Kokichi shrugs and smiles sweetly, drawing a finger up close to his lips. “Who knows?”

Kaito groans. “Don't know why I fuckin’ bother. I can't even get a straight answer out of you when you're already dead and have nothing left to lose.”

“I'm entitled to take a few secrets with me to my grave, aren't I?” Kokichi says. “That's all the dead have, after all.”

“I guess,” Kaito says. It's a begrudging concession, but he sort of understands, just a bit. Or he’d like to think he does, at least.

"Oh, and I guess I got this stupid jacket that doesn't fit me right, too." Kokichi pulls the article tighter around his shoulders by its thick lapels. "Would've preferred a shirt, at least. Maybe a shirt that says 'I died and all I got was this shitty t-shirt'. The dead deserve modesty, too!"

Kaito changes his mind. He still doesn't understand Kokichi in the slightest.

"Speaking of which," Kokichi directs a nod and a raised brow at Kaito's own jacket. "Did you really go to get another one of those dumb things from your room?"

"So what if I did?" Kaito huffs defensively. "Obviously I couldn't get the other one back, and I had time."

"You really took a trip aaaaall the way back to your dorm so that you could make sure you'd never be caught not wearing one of those things horribly incorrectly," Kokichi says. "I didn't have you pegged for the kind of person so dedicated to looking awful at all possible times, Momota-chan."

"I don't need to hear that from you," Kaito retorts. "Can't a man have one nice thing left with him when he dies?"

"Sure! But we're not talking about nice things right now."

Kaito fumes. This conversation is going nowhere, and he can already feel the prickling onset of a headache. “Whatever. It doesn't matter now, anyway,” he decides, hunching over again to bring his face closer to the script. “I'm dying, and you're, uh. You're not real.”

“Oh, you're still on that? That's a little sad,” Kokichi giggles, not appearing to find it very sad at all. “Only unwilling to suspend disbelief when doing so would actually make things fun… Man, you really are boring, Momota-chan.”

Kaito still isn't reading the script, but he stares at it regardless because he should never have given a ghost the satisfaction of a response in the first place.

\------

What could be minutes or hours later, Kaito jolts awake with a crick in his neck and a pressure still simmering in his lungs. Sweat sticks his bangs to his forehead. With a clammy hand he peels them back, wipes his cheeks again, and tries to make sense of what happened.

 _It was just a dream after all_ is the first thought in his head, and it should come as a relief. It should mean there are no questions left to ask, because the only thing to consult is the script Kokichi left him. It should be like nothing happened.

The cockpit is empty, save for himself and a drying dark red stain beneath his left slipper. There are no lingering poltergeists anywhere to be seen. No messages written in blood, or whatever usually happens in horror movies. Kaito's shoulders slump.

What he feels isn't relief, though. It's unease tying his damaged insides into knots.

Ghosts aren't real, he knows. Kokichi Ouma is still dead, he knows. He's going to join him soon, he knows.

He doesn't know much beyond that. He's back at square one, except he feels like he understands even less now. The tail end of Kokichi's notes are shaky, and trail off into a scribble that Kaito assumes is meant to be a self-portrait, flashing him a peace sign and a “Good luck, idiot-chan!”

He loops back to the same thought that he fell asleep with. _What a load of bullshit._

**Author's Note:**

> i've really taken a liking to writing character studies... i think gray's rubbed off on me, haha.
> 
> on a more serious note to anyone else who's been following my writing: i thought summer vacation would give me more time to write, but i ended up getting a job because i really need the money, so now i'm working roughly 35 hours a week, which... doesn't leave me a whole lot of free time and energy. i'm doing my best, though! i really hope to get an update for my timeloop fic out soon, and to actually start scheduling further updates for that. to those of you who follow it or have been sticking with me in general, i thank you for your patience and support thus far - it means the world to me.


End file.
